


Three Impossibilities

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Conversations, Emotional Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Napping, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Just because something is impossible doesn't mean it's not true.





	Three Impossibilities

Strictly speaking, celestial beings don’t need to sleep. They were designed to be immortal creatures of worship, of wakeful watching, of divinity. Like most things given the spark of life, what they were designed for wasn’t quite what they became.

Crowley knew all of this quite well. He hadn’t been created as a demon, after all. But a few wrong choices and hanging out with the wrong crowd had led to a long dive into a pit of burning sulphur and now here he was.

Celestial beings didn’t need to sleep, but Crowley had discovered some time ago that it could be a relief. When he was asleep the world would continue in its orbit. Humans would continue to find new cruelties he might be given credit for. Merlin and his thousand-year sleep might well have the right idea.

But sleep was not painless either. Nightmares and memories troubled the passing hours. Sometimes he dreamed about burning as he Fell. Sometimes he dreamed of rising floodwaters and screams to a God who had turned her back. Sometimes, it was the cries of those that had died too young or the families they left behind. In sleep, there was no escape from all those things he did his best to ignore in his waking hours. Why should a demon feel guilt? For that matter, how could he? Shouldn’t that be impossible?

But, just because it was impossible didn’t make it less true.

The other benefit to wakefulness was Aziraphale. The one constant in a changing world. One might think that to be in the presence of holy good would make the guilt worse, but, in fact, the opposite was true. Aziraphale accepted him as he was, and always had. If Crowley woke from a nightmare and then suddenly appeared in Aziraphale’s shop the angel would fix him a cup of tea and offer him a place to sit. Sometimes in the quiet Crowley would confess to small things, sometimes he’d simply keep his silence. But no matter what, Aziraphale would put an arm around him, perhaps kiss his temple like a benediction, and Crowley would leave feeling lighter.

Other times their drinks were much stronger than tea. Those were the times Crowley would reveal his bad dreams, admit to his nightmares, speak of the worst things he’d seen and done. And, as always, Aziraphale would listen, would let him know he was not alone. Aziraphale was his rock in a sea of trouble.

He hoped, in his heart of hearts, that Aziraphale valued his company just as much. 

After the argument about the holy water, Crowley had taken a particularly long nap. He’d been afraid to seek out Aziraphale again, afraid he’d be unwelcomed, that this time he really had put his foot in it.

Instead, when he woke near the turn of the century, he found his flat had been kept clean, the plants had been tended and replaced as needed, and there was a handmade quilt on the bed.

It nearly made him weep with relief, not that he’d admit it.

After making sure he was wearing the current fashions, he’d headed out of his flat, feet leading him unerringly to the bookshop. 

Aziraphale was in the middle of shooing out a prospective customer. The man looked quite put out to be told no, and turned on his heel in a huff, nearly running into Crowley. He muttered a few choice things about Aziraphale. Crowley barely reacted, but that particular man was going to have a very bad run of luck over the next few days.

Seeing Crowley, Aziraphale broke into a smile, letting him inside and quickly locking the door after him. “It’s good to see you,” he said, voice as warm and honest as it always was.

Crowley followed him through the maze of books, noticing there were more than the last time he’d seen it. “You’ve been taking care of my flat?” it wasn’t quite a question, but there wasn’t any other explanation.

“Ah, well. After I hadn’t seen you in a year or so I came by and, well, yes.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his handkerchief. “I know we didn’t quite part on the best of terms…” He straightened his back and looked Crowley in the eye. “I’m still not giving you _that_.”

“I know, angel, I know,” said Crowley, waving away his concern. “That’s not why I came by.”

“Tea, then? Wine? Something else?” asked Aziraphale, clearly wanting to be the best host he could be.

“Anything.” Crowley hesitated, then took his hat off and tossed himself onto the sofa. “I have questions.”

Aziraphale nodded and quickly produced a bottle of wine and two glasses. Questions could mean anything from how was the weather in Brazil to reflections on the nature of divinity and it was best to be fortified.

“Of course,” said Aziraphale, pouring them each a glass and settling himself in his chair. 

Crowley took a sip, surprised at how parched he was after his sleep. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, I suppose I should ask what I missed.”

“Oh, I took notes. Well, after the first three years anyway. I wasn’t certain how long you’d sleep. This was your longest, wasn’t it?”

“Well, since I wasn’t able to sleep through the entire 14th century, yes,” muttered Crowley, watching as Aziraphale got to his feet again and went to his desk, quickly coming back with a journal that he passed over to Crowley. “You took credit for a few things. I believe Hell continues to be pleased with your work.”

“Great,” said Crowley sarcastically. He opened the journal and glanced at Aziraphale’s messy handwriting, then closed it again and put it aside. He could look it over later. “This is more than the Arrangement,” he said into his glass. “You didn’t have to.”

Aziraphale gave him the kind of smile that told him he was being quite silly about things. “I hardly mind. Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t want Hell to wake you up from your nap.”

Crowley shivered. He could only imagine what Hastaur would do. Probably set the place on fire around his ears.

“Did you sleep well?” probed Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t remember all of it. Did you leave me a quilt?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored. “It was rather cold a few winters ago.”

“Demons don’t exactly get frostbite,” said Crowley, draining the rest of his glass.

“You’re welcome,” said Aziraphale to the words he couldn’t say aloud.

Crowley poured himself another glass. “I think I woke up because things are changing.”

“Ah, yes. It’s possible. Things are moving in the world.” Aziraphale shrugged. “I haven’t got any particular orders, but you know how humans are.”

“They hardly need _my_ demonic intervention,” muttered Crowley, remembering a slice of one of his darker dreams.

Aziraphale sat next to him, perhaps seeing the shadow that had crossed his features.

Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale looked right back. Right, well, neither one of them would ever win a staring contest. Crowley turned away and looked around the room. He wondered if Aziraphale ever watched him sleep. That should be unsettling, but really it was a comfort. Perhaps Aziraphale’s presence had helped keep the bad dreams at bay. After all, he’d trust Aziraphale with his life and he knew Aziraphale trusted him the same. Ridiculous really, for an angel and demon to feel this way about each other. 

Just because it was impossible didn’t make it less true.

Aziraphale sipped his wine. “Care to get some dinner? There are a few very good restaurants that have opened up.”

That was safer conversation. “I suppose I could be convinced,” said Crowley. “What are you tempting me with today?”

Aziraphale launched into a description of the menu of his new favorite haunt. Crowley smiled fondly, listening and relaxing. Everything seemed to be settling into its usual place. He’d have to contact Hell at some point, but that could wait.

Suddenly, Aziraphale’s hand rested over his own. Crowley started at the touch and turned his head. Aziraphale had an odd look on his face. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

Crowley blinked a few times. He wet his lips, then reached up and removed his glasses, wanting Aziraphale to see his eyes. “You’re always worth waking up for.”

Aziraphale beamed, reaching up and touching his cheek. 

Crowley leaned into his touch. Dangerous waters indeed, but he could hardly pull away. Sometimes he dreamed of Aziraphale, but he’d never confessed that to the angel. Some of the dreams were innocent, others… very much not.

“I’ve had some very interesting experiences the last few years,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh?” asked Crowley, trying to sound calm but his voice wavered.

Aziraphale leaned in. Crowley’s eyes closed as Aziraphale’s lips brushed his own. It sent a shock down to his very soul. Aziraphale started to pull away but he cupped the back of his angel’s head and drew him close again.

Crowley parted his lips as Aziraphale took charge, pressing him back against the sofa, licking his way into his mouth, as if now that he’d been given permission he wanted to claim all of Crowley. 

Moaning softly, Crowley clutched the front of Aziraphale’s jacket like a drowning man to a life preserver. Surely he wasn’t still dreaming, but how could this be real?

“You’re wide awake,” muttered Aziraphale to his thoughts before kissing him again.

“I thought… we… dinner?” asked Crowley.

Aziraphale finally pulled back. He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. “Dinner and then we come back here? I had a bed put in upstairs. Still can’t quite get the hang of sleeping, but, there are other ways we could use it.”

Crowley blasphemed. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

Crowley looked away from his gaze. “Must have got in a lot of temptations,” he said, blindly reaching for the wine bottle and taking a swig.

“And blessings,” said Aziraphale, taking the bottle from his hand. Crowley watched as he took his own swig straight from the bottle and put it down on the floor.

There was a heartbeat of quiet, then Crowley surged in and kissed Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale smiled against his lips, then Crowley found himself being picked up and carried. Aziraphale continued kissing him as he hurried up the narrow staircase and into the bedroom. He moaned softly as Aziraphale lay him down in the bed, looking him over as if he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Crowley snapped his fingers and they were both nude. Aziraphale was making a rather impressive effort, if he did say so himself.

With heat and desire on his face, Aziraphale moved over him, settling over his narrow hips. 

“You’d put off dinner for me?” asked Crowley, still not quite believing this was happening.

“Anytime, yes.” Aziraphale kissed him again.

Crowley moaned again, miracling lube, spreading himself in offering.

“I’m so glad you came to me tonight,” said Aziraphale softly, pushing into Crowley.

Crowley groaned, gripping his shoulders. This was better than even his imagination had conjured. It seemed perhaps Aziraphale had thought about things while Crowley slept and now he was taking what he wanted. Crowley had no argument.

“You are beautiful,” said Aziraphale. “And peaceful when you sleep. It’s the only time I ever really see you still.”

Something twisted in Crowley’s heart. “Aziraphale,” he said in tones of worship he hadn’t spoken in eons.

Aziraphale braced himself above him and smiled, taking Crowley fast and hard. His wings unfolded, arching over them. He looked holy, a burning bush, a sight to make humans quake and cower. Crowley was not human, but still he trembled. It should burn a creature like himself.

Crowley closed his eyes, but the afterimage echoed through his soul. He groaned, unfurling his own dark wings, laying them on the bed in supplication and surrender. 

Leaning in again, Aziraphale nibbled on his throat, claiming him with every thrust. Crowley’s own cock lay trapped between them, his climax building as he clung to Aziraphale. He muttered snatches of pleas and prayers in a mix of languages from Earth and elsewhere as if one tongue was not enough to express his overwhelming emotion.

“Come,” ordered Aziraphale, voice echoing as if they were in a church, not a small bedroom.

Crowley cried out and came, shaking with the force of it. Aziraphale kissed him one more time, then pulled out and easily flipped him over. Crowley clung to the sheets, Aziraphale’s wings covering his own. It was a small miracle that the bed stayed in place despite the force of his movements.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s neck and then followed him over, making Crowley shout and come again for a second time. 

Crowley ached, heart and body, never wanting to move from underneath the comforting weight of Aziraphale. Despite his long rest he dozed a bit, warm and sated. They lay tangled together until the sun began to set outside the window.

Aziraphale finally pulled back, tucking his wings away and sitting up. Crowley grumbled as he rolled over, hiding his own wings. The angel looked utterly satisfied and he imagined his face was the same.

Quietly, Aziraphale leaned down and kissed him once more. Crowley sighed, then sat up again, snapping them clean and their clothes back into place.

Aziraphale offered him a hand up. They made their way downstairs and, soon enough, back out into the world, walking under Aziraphale’s umbrella towards the restaurant of his choice.

There was no need to speak, no need to name what this was.

The guilt of a demon, an angel’s trust, and the love between them both. All impossibilities, but nonetheless true.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Beltainefaerie and astudyinfic for reading along, cheering me on, and reading it over
> 
> You can find me on twitter and tumblr at merindab


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